


Motionless Wheel

by Sybrant



Series: Viking AU [2]
Category: Troy (2004) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Death, Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Slave, Vikings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sybrant/pseuds/Sybrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the raid, Orlando must learn to cope with his new lot in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motionless Wheel

Orlando woke suddenly; his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes wildly darted about the unfamiliar room. The screams of the night slowly faded away as he shook off the remnants of sleep. He couldn’t remember what it was he had been dreaming of, but he could still taste the fear. Pushing himself onto his elbows he looked around the empty room, confused as to where he was, where everyone else was, and to why he was sleeping naked in a pile of furs. Pulling the soft furs tighter around himself as a shiver passed through his lithe form, he sat up, wincing as he felt a dull pain rearing up from between his legs. His eyes widened as previous events became clearer; the attack on the village, his grandmother and sisters being torn from him, the large blond man who had hurt him and Eric… Eric the invader who had saved him. Eric who had kissed him and had made the pain go away. 

Pulling the large brown fur tighter around his naked form he painfully rose to his feet, shuffling across the dirt floor to the doorway. Pushing the thick hide out of the way he peered outside, squinting as the morning light hit his eyes. He couldn’t see much from his location, his view blocked by what appeared to be the corner of a large building. Pulling the hide further out of the way he jutted his head out of the door, tightening his hold on the fur as a gust of wind assailed him. Orlando chewed his lower lip nervously as he glanced around the village, uncertain as what to make of it all. The village didn’t look too different to his own; small thatched dwellings surrounding a central square area, in the centre of which stood a large rectangular building. This building, however, appeared a lot newer than the surrounding structures; the form of decorations on it suggesting the Norse raiders had constructed it after taking over the small settlement. 

Daring to shuffle out a little further, he could just make out what appeared to be a fence of some kind surrounding the settlement as a whole. A sudden chorus of shouts made Orlando jump back into the safety of the dwelling; hastily pulling the hide back in place till only a slither remained through which to peer. He watched as men began to spill forth out of the large meeting hall; some staggered about erratically laughing; some appeared to be carrying still forms over their shoulders, many of which were as naked as Orlando had found himself. He tensed as he saw the blond invader emerge, sickness stirring in the pit of his stomach. The blond man clapped his large hands on a passing mans back, pulling him close so he could whisper in his ear. Orlando ground his teeth as he watched the two invaders laughing together, unconcerned by their actions of the night before. 

So focused was he on the two figures, he didn’t have time to react as the hide was suddenly flung wide open. Jerking backwards in surprise he landed hard on the dirt ground, crying out as injuries protested. Looking up fearfully he calmed slightly when he saw it was Eric who stood in the doorway, illuminated from behind by the morning rays.

Eric looked down in surprise at the figure sprawled at his feet; long pale shapely limbs contrasting against the dark brown of the fur wrapped loosely around the naked form. He smirked as he watched Orlando stagger to his feet, the thick pelt swamping his lithe form as he struggled to rise without dropping his cover. Eric felt his stomach flutter as the youth sent him a small smile, a feeling he hastily tried to dispel. The boy was his slave…nothing more. It was time he learnt what was expected of him. Striding over to the corner of the hut he grabbed a light brown tunic from a pile, briefly inspecting it before tossing it over to the boy. 

‘Dress’. Orlando looked quizzically at the garment before slipping it over his head, dropping the fur to pool around his feet. Eric allowed his eyes to roam over the pale chest, firm thighs and the youths man-hood, nestled in a bed of small brown curls; sighing as the tunic quickly slid down Orlandos body, hiding his form from view. The tunic was one of Erics and, as such, far too large for the slim form it currently covered. The material rested just below the boy’s knees, and appeared wide enough to wrap around him twice. Digging through the pile of garments again, Eric stood up in triumph, a strip of leather gripped tightly in his hand. Pulling the boy closer he wrapped the length around the thin waist, causing the material to hitch up to above his knees. Though the tunic still swamped him, it would no longer prevent him completing his chores and would suffice until one of the women had time to make him a new one.

Eric ran his hand down Orlandos’ side, the rough material pulling under his callused fingers. He watched as the boy tensed, before leaning into the touch, eyes widening as Eric brought both his hands round to cup the youths’ pert buttocks, squeezing the mounds through the tunic. He stepped closer to the boy till there was naught but material between them, chests heaving against each other. He buried his face in the mass of wild curls, inhaling the musky scent, as one hand wound its way under the tunic till it was caressing bare skin. Wrapping his other arm round the boys’ waist he pulled him tighter against him, causing the lad to raise on to his toes as Eric moulded himself over the lithe form. 

Eric looked up as Karl entered the dwelling, a grin splitting his face as he took in the desirable sight of the brown haired slave on his toes, tunic hitched up to his waist displaying milky buttocks which his brother fondled with one large hand, while the other was pressed against the youths’ back pulling him tight against the his chest. Karl laughed out loud when the slave noticed him, dashing behind his brothers’large form as if he would provide any protection. By the Gods….what he would give to plunge himself into that tight heat once again; the boys blatant fear making him all the more desirable. Stepping forward he snorted in amusement as the youth plastered himself to Erics back; a small wail of distress muffled by the garment his face was pressed against. 

Eric tried to pry the quaking form off him, but found the act difficult without injuring the lad. Grunting in frustration he opted to instead turn his attention to his brother.

‘Yes?’ Karl reluctantly dragged his lustful gaze from the slave back to his brothers scowling face.

‘Brother…surely you do not still intent to keep the slave to yourself. I know of many, myself included, who would be in your debt if you but lent him to us for a night. For he is a prize worthy of the Gods themselves…’ Karl only whispered the last part, yet Eric heard him nether the less. Eric felt the boy fist his clothes tightly, having understood the sentiment if not the words.

‘I told you last night brother, he is mine and mine alone. Were he another I would share him, as I have done before…but this is the boy that healed me. I owe him a debt.’ Eric knew what Karl would ask…

‘Then why keep him as a slave if you feel indebted to the child? It is because you too desire him is it not?’ Eric started towards the blond Norseman, only to stop short as the figure clinging to his back prevented much movement.

‘Do you question me?’ From Erics’ tone Karl knew he was treading on dangerous ground. If he were to ever challenge his brothers’ leadership it would be over more than the slip of a boy currently cowering behind Eric. Bowing his head in submission he stepped back from the towering form.

‘Of course not brother.’ Eric deflated slightly, aware that he had over-reacted to his brothers’ jest. The problem was….he had been right. If he truly felt indebted to Orlando he would have released him after the raid, rather than taking him as a personal slave. Eric just couldn’t bring himself to release the boy though…..he did desire him too much. If any other slave had acted as Orlando now did they would have been beaten, but that the boy currently clung to him, confidant that he could and would protect him from his brother…it made him smile….inside.

‘What did you want Karl?’ 

‘Liv is teaching some of the other slaves their chores….I thought you might like your boy to be present too.’ Karl threw one last glance behind his brother before turning, making his way back outside.

Eric watched him leave, aware that the grip on his tunic had loosened since his brother had left. Why Orlando was scared of Karl was obvious…why he wasn’t as scared of him was less so. Reaching behind him he pulled the youth round till he stood in sight. Tears fell from large brown eyes creating tracks on the dust covered face. Eric was surprised to suddenly find his fingers on the boys’ cheeks, gently wiping away the wet trails. Pulling his traitorous hand back with a jerk he took a step away from the boy, desperately trying to regain control of his senses. Orlando muttered something in his own language, stepping towards Eric, arms outstretched in a comforting gesture. 

Coming to a decision Eric roughly wrapped his hand around one of the thin wrists, dragging the boy towards the door and out into the morning sun. 

Orlando looked around in fascination as he was lead across the square, eyes darting in all directions. He waved at a group of women weaving by the main hall, small children rolling around their feet. He stopped suddenly, almost falling to his knees as Eric tried to yank him onwards. The large Norseman looked at him in confusion, following his gaze over to the weaving woman, unable to see what exactly held his slave so enraptured. He was doubly surprised when the boy managed to slip free of his grasp and began to run towards the group, screaming out in his language as he ran. Eric quickly caught up with him, grabbing the struggling form around the waist as he continued to scream out. By now the boy had caught the attention of most of the village, including the small blond girl currently speeding towards him. Eric suddenly realised what the boy had been yelling and let him go, the youth dropping heavily to the floor in surprise. Scrambling desperately forwards Orlando caught the small figure in his arms, clinging tightly to her as she sobbed onto his tunic; small arms locked around his neck.

Eric watched as Orlando gently rocked his baby sister…Mary….wondering idly if the other little girl was somewhere nearby. Glancing around he realised that Orlando had caused quite a scene as many of his kinsman had stumbled forth out of their dwellings after the night of revelry, disturbed by the boys screams. The same kinsman that now looked on in surprise and disgust as their apparent leader was being openly defied by a lowly slave boy. Calling out to one of the woman he strode towards the hugging pair, ignoring the sobs and screams as he removed the little girl from Orlandos grasp. Placing the squirming girl in the arms of a buxom woman he turned to the figure desperately clawing at his trousers, calling his name in protest… and hit him hard across the face. Eric felt uneasy as he watched the boy spin to the ground, the force of the blow knocking him on his front. Discreetly glancing up he saw looks of approval on the faces of the men watching, many petering off back to bed now punishment was to be served. Turning back to the sobbing form at his feet he felt sick as Orlando cowered away from him. Grabbing him by the arms he hauled the shaking boy to his feet, slinging him over his shoulder before striding back to his hut.

Throwing the boy into the pile of furs that acted as a bed Eric quickly turned back to the door, pulling the piece of hide in place to block prying eyes. Orlando was no longer crying, but instead lay where he had been tossed on the furs, warily following Erics movements across the room till he knelt next to the still youth. He flinched as the Norseman reached out; eyes showing confusion as Eric gently ran his hand over the reddening cheek. Pulling his hand back, Eric sat back heavily; sighing as he ran his hands roughly through his hair in frustration. He wanted to tell Orlando he was sorry, he wanted to tell him why he had hit him and why the boy had to be careful in the future….but he couldn’t. 

Leaning forwards he gently stroked the boy’s wild curls, attempting to calm him as he would any startled animal. The boy still remained still as Eric instead opted to lie next to him on the furs, flinching slightly as the larger man pulled him into his embrace, slinging a leg over his own; surrounding him with his presence. Eric murmured softly in his ear as he ran his hands over the youths’ body; the caresses calming him. Eric tilted the boys head; pressing his lips against Orlandos. He could feel the boys’ lips quivering against his own. Eric tried to convey everything he couldn’t say through the intimate gesture, almost crying out in relief as he felt the lips beneath his begin to respond; moving in a gentle caress of acceptance. When Orlandos’ lips parted beneath his, he felt a strange feeling in his chest; almost as if a weight had physically been lifted off him….he’d been forgiven. 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Orlando stared at the woman in front of him, unsure what exactly it was she appeared to be waiting for him to do. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he watched her sigh before turning to one of the other ‘slaves’ gathered for training. After Erics odd behaviour earlier he had been more than a little wary leaving the hut again, afraid he would somehow displease the large Norseman in some way, but luckily the second venture out into the village had been uneventful. Orlando had been disappointed not to see Mary again, but was content in the knowledge she was safe and nearby. His fear for Anne however had increased after Mary had sobbed onto his shoulder, brokenly telling him that she had lost her sister in the skirmish. 

Eric had led him across the village to a small group of people sat in front of a friendly looking woman who had introduced herself as Liv, wife of Viggo. An Anglo by birth, Liv had been captured on one of the first raids by the invaders, taken as a wife by a stern looking Norseman named Viggo. It seemed her job was to train them in ways to please their new masters, from cooking and weaving to various forms of entertainment. Orlando watched on with interest as she motioned one of the other slaves to their feet, a young girl with long red hair. Orlando didn’t recognise her from his village, so guessed she must have been taken during an earlier raid. There was a certain look in her eyes of someone who had seen too much and she stood hunched over, hand clasped over her womb as though in pain. Liv motioned to one of the older women watching nearby, who hastily hurried over, wrapping her arm around the thin figure before ushering her away. Orlando watched the hunched girl as she was lead into a hut; trying not to squirm as the sight of her brought up unbidden feelings and memories.

A shout across the camp drew the groups’ attention and Orlando watched as a brown haired youth was dragged forcibly out of one of the huts towards them. Unlike him, the youth still wore his own clothes, though these were now ragged and bloody; his hands bound in front of him. The youths’ eyes looked up meeting his and for a moment Orlando forgot to breath. Bern…..

Bern was equally as shocked to see Orlando, earning a sharp slap when he suddenly stopped in surprise. Stumbling forwards he didn’t protest as he was pushed to the ground next to the familiar youth, instead desperately grateful to see someone he knew in the nightmare he had found himself in. Not caring about how it may have seemed he reached forwards, urgently grabbing hold of Orlandos’ hands between his own bound ones, needing to know the boy next to him was real.

Orlando wasn’t sure what to make of it. Here sat Bern, the boy who had teased and bullied him most of his life, desperately holding onto his hands as if letting go would cause the world to fall, with tears streaming down his face. Orlando couldn’t help it, the boys’ pain was far too great to ignore, so he reached out, pulling the shaking body against him in comfort. Berns’ tears soaked his tunic as he gently stroked the boys hair, trying to impart comfort though he was unsure whether he was doing it right. He looked up as Liv called his name.

‘Orlando. You know this boy?’ Nodding, he watched as she dismissed the fat Norseman, turning back to the shaking figure in his arms.

‘What is your name boy?’ Bern pulled back from Orlandos embrace, wiping his eyes with bound wrists.

‘B..Bern.’ Smiling in a re-assuring manner Liv lent forwards, taking gentle hold of the abused wrists before cutting the rope that held them together. Bern winced as circulation suddenly returned to his hands; cuts on his wrists bleeding anew as the rope was peeled from his skin. 

‘Well Bern. I know this has been a shock to you but as I told the others, the sooner you become use to your new life and duties the easier it will be on you.’

‘What duties?’ Bern tried to ignore the painful throbbing in his fingers, wincing as Orlando gently took one hand and began to massage the swollen digits. 

‘All slaves are required to cook, clean, weave and complete whatever other duty their master wishes of them. Some slaves have one master and will serve them alone in all matters unless told otherwise; others will belong to the village. If you are assigned to work in the great hall you will serve all who enter its doors in anyway asked.’ Bern scowled, already aware what this would mean.

‘You mean we are to be whores.’ If he was hoping for some reaction from the woman he was sorely disappointed.

‘Yes. You are to be whores to any who wish to take you. You will follow every instruction given to you or else you will be punished. Understood?’ 

‘How am I…are we to follow every instruction when we do not understand these….men.’ Bern was aware that every eye in the group was on him but he did not care. He had been taken from his home, his family and friends killed, and violated all night by a slobbering beast of a man whose blubbery girth had almost suffocated him numerous times. There was little else that could be done to him.

‘You will learn in time as I have done.’   
\----------------------------------------  
Bern watched as the woman, Liv, attempted to show Orlando how to carve the small rabbit; frustration evident on her face as he once again dropped the small knife. He felt slightly guilty as Orlando hurriedly picked it up, tears pricking in the younger boys’ eyes as he stubbornly hacked away at the now rather mutilated corpse. One word from him and he could explain the younger boys’ ‘problem’ to the brown haired woman and save any further distress…but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Bern turned away from the scene, intent on skinning his own rabbit as he mulled over his thoughts. Now was not the time to hold grudges. His family was dead, Orlandos’ family was dead, and both were stuck in this place for the foreseeable future yet… Bern tugged roughly at a scrap of skin that refused to part from the muscle beneath. Orlando had been claimed by the leader of these…rapists, that idiot boy had been given yet another chance…while he’d been left to the rabble. Scrubbing roughly at his streaming eyes Bern then flipped the rabbit over, slicing open the soft belly to pull at the innards. Orlandos’ sister was still alive apparently, yet Bern hadn’t seen his little brother since the attack…but he’d heard the screams. He coughed, trying desperately to get a hold on his ragged emotions. He’d already broken down once; he had no intention of giving them the pleasure a second time. Bern swallowed heavily as deep red blood spilt across his hands as he began pulling out the small organs… he no longer saw them though. Flames danced across his vision as he watched it burn...his home…the screams from inside…the pained cry…Bern…Bern

“Bern?” He swung round when a hand settled on his back, small knife raised in defence. Flesh parted under the blade before he could stop the movement. With wide eyes he watched as Liv stumbled backwards, hand clenched to her arm as she yelled in shock. Small rivulets of blood pooled between her clenched fingers as she pressed down on the wound.

“I’m..I’m sor-” he didn’t get to finish as a large hand suddenly grabbed him by the neck, hauling him to his feet. Bern didn’t think, he just felt the fingers pressing into his windpipe and panicked. A cry rang out as he sunk the small danger into the unknown body, dropping to the ground as the hand released him. Scrambling to his feet he ignored the shocked calls, even the small voice he knew calling his name, and ran. Bern didn’t know where, he didn’t care; it just had to be away. Buildings whipped past him as he ran toward the perimeter fence; the pounding of feet and laboured breathing closing in behind him. The wooden barricade drew closer with each step…so close….

Bern cried out as something landed heavily on his legs, forcing him to the ground. His arms bent painfully beneath him as he tried to soften the fall; small stones digging into his exposed skin. He had no chance to recover before hands grabbed at him again, some on his tattered clothing, others gripping his hair painfully. Bern looked around fearfully as he was physically dragged along back through the village; feet unable to gain any purchase on the rough ground. Light suddenly became dark as he was shoved through a doorway into one of the residential huts; collapsing onto the floor as fear took over him. Muffled voiced argued above him as he strove to pull air into his petrified lungs; head swimming as panic set in. He was a dead man.

He unconsciously lashed out as hands reached for him again; feet striking something large and soft. Rolling to the side, he narrowly avoided a kick aimed at his head, though could not avoid the blow to his back from the other direction. Bern cried out as blow after blow reigned down upon his defenceless body. Curling up into a ball he could do nothing but wait for the assault to end.

Bern had no idea at what point the blows had ceased, nor when the other men had left, yet he found himself alone in the dark room. No…not alone. A man watched him from where he reclined on a large bed; a smirk plastered across his face. Blond hair fell over his shoulders, a slightly lighter shade than the short beard that covered his face. Sitting up Bern watched the man warily, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. Suddenly the man spoke, his voice deep and rich yet speaking in a tongue Bern could not understand.

The man stood, swaggering as he walked over to Berns’ prone form. Kneeling the blond hair man looked at him for a moment, eyes taking in the small cuts and bruises across the pale skin.

SMACK

Bern flew backwards onto the ground as the man slapped him…hard. His vision blurred as his head impacted the hard ground, crying out as bruises and abused muscles screamed in protest. Bern gritted his teeth as he realised the blond haired man was laughing…actually laughing at his misery. That was the last straw…

Ignoring his ribs, Bern swung his leg round, knocking the laughing man clear off his feet. Scrambling up he threw himself at his capture, slamming his fists repeatedly into the other mans’ face. Quick to recover, the blond retaliated, grabbing hold of the flailing wrists as he quickly rolled to the side, pinning the younger man under his larger weight. Bern bucked beneath the large warm body, desperate to dislodge the man from his chest. The blond invader spoke again, blatantly teasing the smaller brunette at his unsuccessful attempts. Grunting in annoyance Bern gathered his courage for one last attempt…this was going to hurt. Bern threw his head forwards, smiling at the satisfying cry of pain the blond let out as their heads collided. His satisfaction didn’t last long though, as not only did the larger man not release his wrists, but he actually grinned…grinned! Bern paused in his struggles as his captor lent close, noses almost touching as he stared at the younger man intently. Brown eyes met blue; Bern could feel warm breath on his lips…

“OOOFFF!” The blond haired Norsemen released Berns’ hands as he desperately grabbed between his legs. The young man scrambled backwards, away from his cursing captor. He hadn’t wanted to resort to such low tactics, but he hadn’t been left with much of a choice. Bern grinned as he watched the blond man writhing on the floor, fist banging on the compacted ground as he tried to push the pain away. Pulling himself to his feet, Bern stumbled across the room towards the door, only to collapse once again after a few steps; his body not willing to remain upright in its’ current state.

Bern didn’t even protest when he felt hands clutching at his ankles, pulling him backwards till he was once again beneath the blond Norsemen. He was too weary to put up much of a fight anymore; instead waiting for the inevitable punishment. He was therefore quite surprised when none seemed to be forth coming after a few moments. Glancing up, Bern wasn’t sure what to make of the look of confusion on the other mans face, nor the small glimmer he saw in the deep brown eyes.

“You I like. You stay.” The words were slurred and broken, but they were spoken in Berns’ tongue…not that it made them any clearer though. The blond man smiled properly at him, slapping him on the thigh as he struggled to his feet. It was all too much for the young slave; closing his eyes he stopped fighting the darkness.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Orlando could feel the tears slowly streaming down his face as he picked up the small skinning knife again. His hand shook as he grabbed hold of the rabbit, the once soft grey fur now soaked in blood. The small glazed eyes glared at him in accusation as the head flopped towards its attacker; the rabbit was dead of course, but that didn’t make the task any easier. Biting his lip when he noticed Livs’ look of frustration, he turned back to the job at hand.

To tell the truth the poor animal was fairly shredded already; its fur hanging off in strips, half its intestines pooled on the floor from when Orlando had panicked and pushed the knife too deep. Bloody stains covered his tunic and face from unconscious touches with dirty hands.

He didn’t want to do this.

It had been Orlandos’ mother, then grandmother who had been responsible for skinning the carcasses for meat and hides; he’d never had the stomach for it. His father had tried to force him one day, standing over his shoulder the entire time. Orlando had shaken so badly he had shredded the hide, as well as his hands; it had taken many days to recover enough to walk, though he was never asked to skin an animal again…till today…

“Bern?” Orlando looked over at the other young man from his village when Liv suddenly screamed. He watched in shock as the youth was hauled to his feet by the man who had been speaking to Karl earlier, only to see Bern spin and plant the small dagger into the dark blonds shoulder.

“Bern!” Orlando didn’t know why he called after the frightened boy as he ran, nor why he stood as he ran past him; but he definitely felt the sudden blow that sent him back to the ground, his lip splitting under the impact. Knowing better than to get back up, he quickly wrapped his arms around his head, curling up on the ground.

“VIGGO! No!” Peeking between his arms Orlando watched as Liv marched up the large man with the dagger in his shoulder, bodily putting herself between them. He couldn’t follow what was being said as they appeared to argue, but after a few moments the large man, Viggo, backed down, pointedly pulling the small knife out of his shoulder and throwing it at the bleeding woman’s feet before marching away. Liv seemed to deflate slightly as the man walked away, before she turned and crouched before Orlandos’ curled up form.

“Orlando? Are you alright?” He nodded his head, slowly pushing himself up into a seated position. Viggo had hit the opposite side of his face to the one Eric had slapped earlier, so luckily it didn’t hurt as much as it could have…which wasn’t saying much really. Orlando touched his throbbing cheek, wincing as he prodded the area a little too hard. He could still taste blood in his mouth, but that didn’t concern him too much; he’d had many a split lip before.

“You’re hurt!” Liv looked surprised when Orlando gently took hold of her arm, dabbing at the small cut with the corner of his oversized tunic. It was only a small wound, yet he diligently cleaned away the small rivulets of blood, taking care never to press too hard. Liv smiled at the boy, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead in gratitude. Boy…even after only having known him a few hours Liv was more than aware that there was something special about the brown haired youth in front of her.

Glancing around at the rest of the slaves Liv sighed. There was no way any of them would be skinning anything with any success today. Catching the attention of one of the men that had appeared when the scuffle had started, they quickly escorted the slaves back to their residences – most into the slave huts, but some back to the private residences of those of higher status. Orlando practically ran back into Eriks’ hut, longing for the feel of safety the other man brought.

Erik looked up as footsteps quickly sounded near the door, smiling when he noticed his slave hurrying towards him. His smile quickly faded however, when he noticed the state Orlando was in. The bruise bestowed earlier was beginning to flourish into a magnificent dark purple, stretching across his cheekbone and swelling around the eye; his other cheek was an alarming red, suggesting a matching bruise could soon develop. Orlandos bottom lip also appeared swollen, a small spilt running through the centre, whilst the rest of his face and tunic was dotted with patches of dried blood.

“By the Gods!” Struggling to his feet, Erik was barely standing when the youth threw himself into his arms, clinging to the large Norseman as he babbled away in his own language. Erik was unable to understand a word of it, yet the fact he was chattering away that easily and had no discernable wounds comforted the larger man. The blood was not his. Erik pulled the lithe body close, nestling his face in the riot of dark curls as Orlando continued to chatter excitedly. Reassured that the youth was not harmed, Erik loosened his grip, looking down at the grubby face smiling up at him. Ever so gently Erik placed his lips on Orlandos’, careful not to re-open the small wound.

Pulling back, Erik slowly pushed Orlando down onto the pile of furs he himself had been seated on previously, smiling at the questioning look the youth sent him when he prevented the boy from lying down. Taking hold of a wad of cloth, Erik removed a large pot that had been hanging over the open fire. Placing the pot carefully on the ground, Erik turned back to his confused slave.

“Undress.” Erik mimicked the movement of removing his shirt as he spoke, so Orlando would understand what he wanted. The youth stared blankly at the older man for a few moments before reaching for the hem off the tunic.

“Undress.” Erik felt something flutter as he heard the boy speak in his tongue, even if it was only the one word. Orlando pulled off the dirty tunic, placing it on the ground next to his now naked body. Once again he tried to lie back, but yet again Erik tugged him back upright. The large Norsemen smiled as his slave sighed in annoyance. “Erik…”

Picking up the wad of cloth he had used to move the pot, Erik plunged it into the warm water, ringing out the cloth before slowly wiping the material down Orlandos’ arm. The warm, oily liquid had a pleasant aroma to it, the healing herbs he had acquired earlier evidently having been boiled for long enough. Gently turning over the smaller hands in his, Erik cleaned away the blood and dirt from each finger, carefully dotting at the small cuts caused by the inexperienced use of a skinning knife. Once satisfied, Erik once again submerged the cloth, before turning to the other arm and hand; taking extra care with the youths’ swollen face. Orlando didn’t say a word. He just sat watching Erik work, a small smile on his lips as the larger man gently treated his wounds.

Though the water had cooled slightly, Erik submerged the cloth several more times, slowly running the wet material over the boys’ shoulders, along his flat chest and down his long legs. Erik wasn’t immune to the affect this simple task was having on both of them; Orlandos’ breathing had become deep, his skin flushing pleasantly as the sensual act continued. His nipples peaked as the cooler air caressed their wet surface; small gasps escaping his lips as the cloth ghosted over his swelling manhood. Erik too was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot; his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight with each small shudder the boy gave.

“Erik.” The Norseman looked up at the small plea, almost undone by the lust shining in the youthful eyes. Orlando threw himself forwards, lips seeking their counterparts in desperation. Dropping the cloth, Erik grabbed hold of the lithe, damp body, pulling him close till Orlando straddled his lap. He could feel the boys eager erection nudging against his stomach; his own nestled between the youths buttocks, though constrained beneath course material. Erik grunted in frustration, though the noise was smothered by Orlandos’ busy mouth. Pushing the youth roughly off his lap and onto the furs, Erik ignored the cry of annoyance and quickly set about stripping, his tunic and trousers flying to different corners of the room. Grabbing hold of Orlando, he dragged the youth back onto his lap, quickly finding out those lips once again. Pushing his tongue into the willing mouth, he moved the slick muscle in and out; while positioning an oily finger between the youths’ pert buttocks. Slowly he pressed against the puckered entrance, distracting Orlando from any discomfort by continuing to fuck his mouth with his tongue. His slave shuddered as a second finger joined the first, each moving in time with the slick muscle in his mouth. Withdrawing, Erik didn’t give the youth any time to adjust before fully sheathing his needy cock in one thrust.

Orlando gasped, grabbing fist-fulls of Eriks’ hair as the Norseman began to pound into him; lips still locked in a never-ending battle. Erik could feel the velvety channel gripping him tightly with each thrust, then-

“Or-lan-do!” Erik almost forgot to breath as he suddenly felt the rhythm of their fucking change…Orlando was rocking against him. He could feel the youths’ thighs flexing either side of his as the slave willingly impaled himself on his master’s cock, the already tight channel clenching further as the boy deliberately squeezed himself around the huge organ. Erik couldn’t last…it was too much…but Gods be damned if a slave was going to outlast him.

Wedging a hand between their writhing bodies, Erik managed to take hold of the youths bobbing erection, pumping it once…twice…

“ERIK!!!” Orlando convulsed in his lap, hands gripping his hair to the point of pain as the youth came. That was all Erik needed, he too growling as he spilled his seed deep into his slaves body.

Collapsing backwards, Erik wrapped his arms tightly around the lithe form, holding the youth on top of him as they both fought for breath. Orlando looked up from where his head lay on the Norsemans’ heaving chest, smiling as he placed a small kiss in the small patch of dark hair…right over his heart. Erik watched the brown eyes close as the youth lay his head back down, sleep taking hold.

Erik knew he shouldn’t have allowed that. Slaves should not act without permission, nor should they initiate…well…anything. Orlando let out a small sigh, the warm breath ghosting across Eriks’ chest.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t care. He didn’t know what it was about this boy, but right now all he wanted to do was hold him tight and sleep…

Everything else could wait.

\------------------------------------------------------

Orlando sighed heavily as he poked the bubbling broth in front of him. It had been over a month since he had awoken in the invaders camp, yet little had changed. For one thing he was still incapable of making an acceptable rabbit stew; the slightly greenish mess congealing in the pan testament to that fact. A particularly large bubble suddenly burst, releasing a puff of acrid steam into the air. Wrinkling his nose in disgust Orlando quickly glanced around, despair building as he noticed the state of the other slaves meals; Berns’ in particular seemed to be gaining applaud from Liv.

Orlando wasn’t too sure what to make of the other young man; though he had teased him relentlessly back in their home village, Bern had become fairly withdrawn since arriving here, barely speaking to anyone anymore, yet always choosing to sit next to Orlando during these daily tutorials. Bern caught his eye, smiling slightly before returning his gaze to his own pot. Orlando couldn’t help but wonder if the other boy’s sullen attitude had to do will having been claimed by that… that monster – Karl.

Shuddering at the thought at the blond beast, Orlando quickly turned his thoughts back to his own master, smiling to himself as memories of the night before drifted across his mind. The feel of Eriks’ lips across his skin; the salty taste of sweat on his tongue and the blissful feel of his masters power moving between his thighs.

The pot bubbled loudly on the fire, shattering the pleasant memories. Orlando swallowed heavily as he fought the build of tears in his eyes; his gaze fixed mournfully at the mess he had created. His thoughts turned dark as he prodded a lump of meat, questioning what a man like Erik could possibly see in a useless child like him. Frustrated he lashed out, kicking the pot onto the ground; the stew spilling in lumps across the hard soil.

“Orlando!” Liv hurried over to him, grabbing the young man on the arm and heaving him to his feet. “What do you think you are doing!?”

Bowing his head in submission Orlando felt the previously restrained tears running down his cheeks as he watched the greenish-grey broth soak into the ground. He felt a sob catch in his throat as he suddenly realised what he had done…his masters food for that eve now little more than a few pieces of stringy meat and vegetables covered in dirt.

Hesitantly he looked up at Liv, relieved to see compassion in the older womans’ eyes.

“I…I’m sorry. I just cannot do it…” Liv loosened her grip on the young mans arm.

“Orlando, it’s not that difficult. You just need to pay more attention to what you are doing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed; your mind wanders far too easily.”

“I try, but I cannot do it! There is too much to remember! I get confused…I’m sorry.” Orlando sniffed. Oh how he wanted Erik to appear and make things alright again, yet it was another voice that came to his defense.

“Liv, Orlando, he…he cannot perform complex tasks.” Two pairs of eyes quickly swiveled to fix on Berns’ seated form.

“What are you talking about? He performed very well when taught basic healing and weaving-”

“He performed well because it only required him to focus on one thing at a time, whether cleaning a wound or braiding fax to make a mat. He cannot cook complex meals as it requires concentration on many things at once.” Bern did not look up from stirring his pot at all during his speech, yet Liv did not notice; her attention instead drawn back to the despondent youth beside her.

There had been a young girl in her home village who Orlando reminded her greatly of. The girl had been sweet and grateful, yet she too had problems grasping simple tasks. She had not survived past the age of 13; her attention too scattered to alert her to the runaway horse that had crossed her path one day.

Finally releasing her grip on the young brunettes arm, Liv tried to figure out what to do now. She knew Erik was fond of the simple boy, yet it would not be fitting for the leader of the Norsemen to be saddled with an inept slave. What would the other men of the village say? Yet she could not with good conscience condemn the young man to the life of a common slave – his sweet nature too fragile to survive such an ordeal.

A warm body behind her caught Liv by surprise, but she did not jump – that would be what HE wanted. A large hand wrapped around her throat, forcing her head back against the loathed mans shoulder.

“Liv, Liv, Liv – having a problem controlling the animals?” Viggos’ voice coasted across her ear. She was determined not to shudder as she felt his other hand ghosting across her body, cupping her full breasts before drifting down to the junction of her thighs where it remained. Viggo loved doing this; it both managed to demean her and remind observers that he alone had command over the dark beauty. Liv thanked the Gods everyday that she had yet to carry a child to term; her husband would make a cruel father.

She quietly sighed in relief when he withdrew from her, only to become quickly dismayed when she realized his new locality. Viggo was stood next to a rather bewildered Orlando, his eyes greedily taking in the form of the comely youth; hands itching to touch what he could not have. And never will, Liv swore to herself. She would never allow another to take her stead; that she had vowed the day she had been taken.

“There is no trouble my husband, just accident.” Hard blue eyes flashed in her direction before once again returning to the boy before him. Liv couldn’t believe her eyes as Viggo boldly leaned forwards, inhaling the youths scent; yet he tactfully never touched him.

“Husband, should you not be out hunting with the others?” Viggo turned from the slave and returned to Livs’ side; deliberately standing close to emphasize his dominance over the smaller woman.

“Do you presume to tell me what to do?” His voice was little more than a whisper, but had the force of a powerful fist.

“No my Lord – never!” Liv hated that her body automatically cowered away from this man.

“Good, otherwise I’d think your lesson in need of re-teaching.”

She flinched as he raised his hand, yet he simply patted her on the head before wandering away, his gaze blatantly roaming over Orlando as he passed by. Liv took a deep breath, trying to calm her tattered nerves. She had made the mistake of standing up to Viggo on the slaves’ behalf last month. Though the rest of the day had passed without incident, the night had left her bloody and bruised; forced to sleep outside the hut naked after Viggo had tried of his sport.

Turning back to face the huddled slaves she watched for a few moments as they all purposefully stirred their pots; each studiously avoiding looking in her direction…all but one. Orlando offered her a small smile, boldly moving forwards to gift her with a brief embrace. While the act was wholly against the rules, she didn’t care. Right now she needed what this boy, this slave was offering unconditionally.

“Come,” she said stepping back, “I shall show you a simpler meal to prepare, one I happen to know Erik loves.” Orlando smiled brightly at the thought of pleasing his Lord and master; following along as Liv showed him how to start the meal anew.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

“No!”

Karl sighed, rubbing his face as Eriks’ determined voice echoed through the meeting hall. Todays’ gathering was not progressing well. Winter was fast approaching; the days becoming shorter and colder; a time traditionally used to bulk up the village’s food supply, yet instead of hunting these idiots had insisted on a meeting.

“Erik-”

“I said no! Now is not the time to begin raiding again. We are low on supplies as it is-” Erik took a deep breath, “If we raid there will be casualties and probably a batch of new slaves, and we cannot feed them all with the food currently in store. We need to hunt.”

Karls’ gaze drifted across the gathered mass. Though most eyes were locked on his brothers’ continued quarrel with Peter, son of Jack, a small huddle in the corner caught his attention. Brod the Snake, so named due to his uncanny ability to wiggle through any defense, stood with his back to the gathered mass; his pale complexion almost sickly under the flickering candlelight. Next to him was his ever present companion Krier; a giant of a man, larger than any present, though he was also twice as stupid instead relying on Brod to lead the way. What surprised Karl, however, was that Viggo seemed to be conversing with the two maggots. Karl had known the blond haired, blued eyed Norsemen since infancy, often playing together as youths while Erik was away learning the ways of Chiefdom. He could not fathom what his friend could possibly have to discuss with the two bottom dwellers, but before he could find out the group split; Viggo heading towards Karl while the other two scurried away.

“Viggo! Well met my friend.” Karl grabbed Viggos’ arm in the traditional warriors greeting. Viggo smiled widely, returning the greeting with vigor.

“I would not have thought you could have business with the Snake and his lacky.” Viggo was unfazed by the question.

“And I do not. It was merely a friendly warning to heed your brother’s wishes…unless of course they have changed?”

Both men glanced over at the now rather red Peter, who was obviously failing to convince Erik to organize another raid this close to winter. It was a well known fact that the volumous man had exhaustive tastes in both food and slaves, the latter of which he had recently lost, hence the obvious desire to procure a new one before snow fall.

“He has not changed his mind, nor should he on the whims of that over bloated fool. Peter would have us at constant siege if it would fill his lust.” Karl couldn’t help but feel smug that it was he that had deprived the portly man of his latest prize. “Besides, Erik is right. We are low on foodstuffs. This time would be better spent in the hunt, rather than squabbling like old maids.”

“True…however if we were to raid would be guaranteed more supplies…” Viggo quietly ventured.

“Maybe, but that is by no means certain. Many men still bare the wounds of our last encounter however. Were we to strike again we may well loose. Erik is right, we must conserve our strength.” Viggo caught Karls eye, his gaze serious.

“And if the hunt fails?” Karl shifted to the side as Peter stormed passed him and out of the meeting hut.

“If the hunt fails…we may have no choice.” Viggo followed Karl out as the crowd departed, pulling his friend to the side away from prying ears.

“And what of your brother?” Viggo asked quietly.

“What of him?” Karl hoped his friend wasn’t asking what he thought.

“I have heard the whispers, as have you. The men are saying you brother is going sof-” Viggos’ head snapped back as Karl backhanded him.

“Hold your tongue, else I’ll do it for you!” Karl hissed. He grabbed Viggos’ tunic, pulling him close. “My brother is our leader. You will not speak of him like that again.” Viggo nodded, wiping his mouth as he stepped away, turning and heading off into the village in the direction of the slave training camp.

Karl HAD heard the whispers. Erik certainly had not been himself since that slave had arrived. The men were becoming restless, yet their leader was too enraptured with creamy white thighs to notice the stirrings.  
Erik was their leader and as such Karl would follow; no matter what… at least for now anyway.

\---------------------------------------------------

“Erik!” The large Norseman shot up in his cot at the sudden shout, knife already in hand as he stared blearily round the small hut. Noticing Orlando beaming at him from the doorway he sighed, hiding the small knife back under his pillow before dragging himself out of the warm bed and into the chilled morning air. He hissed as his bare feet touched the cold ground, sending a glare towards his over excited slave.

“Erik! See! You come!” While Orlando was not the quickest slave around, he had managed to pick up the Norsemen’s language to some degree over the last two months.

Grumbling, Erik stumbled over to the heavy hide flap, pushing it fully out of the way so he could see outside.

“Pretty!” Orlando leant his head against Eriks’ bare leg, smiling out at the snow covered village. Erik gripped the hide flap in his hand hard, his mind in shock over what he saw. It couldn’t be; it was too soon. The last two hunts had not been very successful; the deer herd having migrated further from the small settlement. Erik had been planning to lead a party deep into the woods….but now it might be too late. Erik wasn’t stupid; he’d heard the whispers among the men. He’d hoped that there would be time to gather enough food without raiding… Absently he ran his hand through Orlandos’ hair, murmuring to himself as he quickly thought over the options. It was only the first snow after all… maybe-

“Good morning Erik! Enjoying the elements I see!” Called Liv from across the square, grinning widely as she took in her leader in all his glory stood proudly in the open doorway of his hut.

Erik glanced down. It wasn’t that he was ashamed about being naked in public, but the cold air did seem to be having an adverse reaction to his…reputation.

Releasing the flap, the heavy hide swung back over the doorway, pitching the hut back into semi darkness. Reaching down, he grabbed Orlando under the arms, pulling the young man to his feet. Tenderly he ran his hand over the smooth face, drinking in the look of adoration directed at him. If this hunt were to go ahead, he could be away for weeks and as such Erik had every intention of making the most of the rest of his time in camp.

Taking hold of the soft skin draped over Orlandos’ shoulder, he pulled it to the side; the material dropping to the ground forgotten. Running his callused hands over the youth’s smooth back he pulled him close, lips tenderly touching in a small caress. Erik couldn’t help but smile as he felt the youths lips part; his tongue sliding out to probe the Norsemen’s’ mouth. Not long ago his lover would not have been so brave. Cupping the youths’ buttocks, he lifted the slighter boy off the ground; stomachs pressed tightly together as Orlando wrapped his legs and arms around his brown haired master. Striding towards the cot he placed his burden on the heavy furs, wasting no time in planting himself between the eager thighs. Orlando made a small noise as Erik slid smoothly into his channel; his body still loose from the night before. They moved gently against each other, small caresses and tender words exchanged as their bodies slid together. Erik smiled down at the boy beneath him, content to be here rather than anywhere else in the world.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Orlando stomped over towards the small lake by which the settlement was situated. Pushing aside the flax roughly, he winced when the edge caught his hand, slitting his palm. Folding his legs beneath him he sat down on the wet ground, the snowy moss soaking his tunic. He stared sullenly at the thin line of blood welling up on his pale skin, biting his bottom lip against the pain. Erik was leaving. Not forever, but for a few weeks as the men tried one last time to gather enough food for the coming winter. Orlando didn’t care; one day was too long in his mind. Erik was everything to him; he didn’t know what to do without the Norsemen around.

“Well, well… Looks like one of the animals has escaped”.

Orlando shot up at the sudden voice, eyes widening as he noticed Livs’ husband – Viggo, standing just past the reeds. Orlando quickly looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone else. He was alone…

“Hiding are we?” Viggo stepped closer, pushing the thick plant out of the way as he stalked the startled youth.

Orlando stepped backwards, not wanting to be too close to the man approaching him. This man scared Liv… “No. Water” He pointed towards the discarded bladder on the floor. While he was distracted Viggo surged forwards, grabbing Orlando and driving him to the floor. Orlando tried to cry out, but found his mouth covered by a large hand, the other working in between their bodies as Viggo quickly freed himself from his clothing before pushing the youths’ legs roughly apart.

Orlando froze, his mind screaming out as he felt a familiar form brush against the inside of his thighs. Panicking he bucked wildly, displacing the larger man long enough to wiggle free. Scrambling to his feet he made it two steps before a blow to the head sent him reeling. Coldness washed over him…

Viggo watched as the slave topped sideways, the blow to the head sending him down into the icy water. The lithe form made barely a sound as the blue liquid folded over him, his limbs still and unmoving as he slowly sank deeper into the lake. Snorting in amusement Viggo stood, rearranging himself before heading back towards the village. He grinned widely as another of the slave boys quickly ducked out of his path, the youth clutching his masters’ water bladder to his chest. Viggo couldn’t wait to see the slaves’ reaction, but knew better than to hang around the area. Erik would be most upset…  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Bern stumbled out of the way of the grinning Norsemen, aware it would not be the best of ideas to provoke Karls’ friend in anyway. Even after two months Bern had yet to submit and mutter the dreaded ‘M’ word, yet for some strange reason Karl seemed to enjoy this stubborn trait in the young man.

Waiting till the smug blond had passed, Bern ducked back onto the path towards the lake, determined to get out of the cold air as soon as possible. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he approached the flax that surrounded the waters edge, footprints showing he was not the first to venture there this day. Bern pushed aside the green plant, stepping carefully passed as he approached the waters edge. Something strange caught his eye as he got closer; a discarded water bladder floated on the edge of the lake, a commodity too costly to just discard on a whim.

Cold water surged around his legs as Bern plowed into the lake; arms grabbing for the body floating just beneath the surface. Heaving, Bern struggled to pull the waterlogged form out of the lake, collapsing on the bank as he struggled to catch his breath. The icy water felt like a huge weight on his chest; each breath a shuddered gasp. His head swam as he struggled onto his knees, heart desperately pleading it was not Orlando he held limp in his arms…

“k..k..KARL!!!!!” Bern didn’t register who it was he had screamed for, only that he needed help. Orlando wasn’t breathing. His skin was far too pale, his lips blue. Bern pounded on the other youths’ still chest, trying to drive the water from him. Orlando’s body jerked under the onslaught. Voices sounded in the distance, drawing close as Bern continued his attempts to save the simple boy.

Brown eyes flew open as Orlando suddenly lurched to the side; chest heaving as his body fought to expel the cold water from his lungs. The shuddered breaths that followed were one of the most beautiful sounds Bern had heard in a long time. Orlando rolled back onto his back, eyes closed as his body sunk back into a much-needed sleep. Bern didn’t even realize he was crying, the shock over almost losing his last…friend…too much to bear.

“Bern! What happened? Get Erik now!” Bern looked up blearily as Karl knelt before him, the blond Norsemen staring in confusion at the two soaked slaves.

“I…I was getting water. I found him…” Bern trailed off, mind still in too much shock to comprehend what was going on. He felt something heavy land on his shoulders, the material warm on his chilled form; Karls’ winter fur…

“Orlando! By the Gods!” Bern watched as Erik barged through the gathered people, dropping to the ground. Pulling his slave into his arms, Erik cradled the small body, running one hand through the damp curls as he pleaded with the youth to awaken. Orlando did not obey, instead remaining limp in his masters’ arms.

“What happened?” Erik’s’ voice was strained as he stared down at the unresponsive form in his embrace.

“Bern found him in the water. He must have slipped in.” Bern was not convinced this was the truth of it, but he knew better than to argue with Karl in front of the village.

Erik struggled to his feet, refusing help from any as he tightened his hold on the pale youth. Turning, he quickly hurried back into the village, calling for the healer as he rushed into his hut. Erik stripped down Orlando’s soaked form before placing him on the cot. Rushing around the small room he gathered up as many furs as he could find, piling them on top of the youth until all that could be seen was his face. Spinning back round, Erik grabbed a stack of wood, dumping it on the fire – the shear volume almost smothering the flames. Grabbing the edge of the cot Erik pulled, dragging the bed and its occupant closer to the heat.

“My Lord! Be careful not to roast the boy.” Erik growled at the aged healer as he entered the hut, not in the mood to be teased. He watched as the old man wandered about, feeling Orlandos’ brow before turning to throw a mixture of herbs on the fire.

“The boy is near death my Lord, but we may still be able to keep him here if we are very careful. This herb will help him breathe easier, while this one”, he produced a dense green sprig from his pouch, “this will keep the demons at bay.” He handed the small plant over to Erik. “You will know when to use it.”

“That is it?” Erik could not believe that was all the help being offered.

The old man sighed, looking down at Orlandos’ pale face. “My Lord…there is little I can do. You have done everything I would suggest. Keep him warm, keep him fed and he may yet return to you.” And with that the old healer left.

Erik stared at the door as the hide slid back into place, the small plant crushed in his fist as he fought the urge to run after the old man. Was that it? What kind of help was that? Erik sat beside the cot, staring blankly at the boy before him. Orlandos’ skin was very pale, his lips still tinged with blue. Erik leaned in close till he could feel the boys’ breath against his face.

“Can you hear me? Will you not wake for me?” His voice was soft as he gazed upon the still face; a face that only a few hours ago was twisted in pure passion. Erik ran his finger along one of the youths’ cheekbones, startled by the chill emanating from his skin even under all the covers. Thinking back to the lessons of his father, Erik shed his clothing before sliding under the heavy furs. Pulling the limp form close he willed his body to warm the one beside him… He needed Orlando too much….

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Brother.” Erik looked up as Karl entered before returning his gaze to the still form in the cot. It had been a day since Orlando had taken his icy tumble, yet the youth had still to show any signs of waking. “Brother we must-” Erik silenced Karl with his hand, glancing once more at the boy before stepping towards his brother.

“What?” Erik didn’t mean to snap, but his nerves were still on edge.

“Erik, I am sorry about your slave, I am!” Karl added at his brothers’ disbelieving look. “We must go today though.”

“Go?” Erik asked puzzled.

“Do not tell me you have forgotten. The hunt was supposed to begin yesterday; understandably it was delayed, but now is the time to go.” Karl did not like the look in his brothers’ eyes.

“Karl…I cannot. You must lead.” Erik turned to head back to the cot, only to be stopped by an insistent grip on his arm.

“I will not lead! You must!” Karl insisted.

Eriks’ temper began to flare. No-one told him what to do. “Nay, I say you will go brother and so you shall. As your leader I order you!”

“And as your brother I refuse! Erik, do you not see what is happening around you? Have you not heard the whispers?” Karl asked.

Erik grabbed Karls’ shoulder, pulling him in close. “Of course I have heard. Do you take me for a fool?” he hissed.

“That I do if this is your order. Erik, you must go else you will prove them true.” Karl pleaded.

“I cannot.”

Karl nodded, pushing away from his brother before stepping over to the cot. “Then the whispers are true! This-” he pointed down at Orlando, “slave has bewitched you!”

“Do not be a fool!” Erik was not comfortable with how close Karl was to the still unconscious youth.

“Me a fool? Erik, I am your brother! I know you! I know how you covert the boy, you pander to his every whim. The tender words you share, the gentle caresses. You make love on this very bed!”

“What is your point?” Erik snapped.

“He is your SLAVE! He is not your wife. Your slave you should degrade. Your slave you should fuck! Your slave should fear you, not love you!”

Erik stormed forwards, pulse racing as he too stood next to the cot. “You think I don’t know you then brother? I know the way you treat your slave. Why can you love and I cannot?!”

“Because you are our leader. Any love in you is seen as weakness by the men. If you must be tender take a wife, but do not act the married man with a slave of war.” Karl did not want to have to be the one to tell his brother this, but events would quickly come to a head if Erik was not made to see.

Erik sank back onto the cot, his head in his hands as he tried to sort out the jumble of feelings. Karl was right, Erik knew that. But some things he couldn’t change.

“Karl…I am sorry. You are right, I know this…but I know I love him.” Erik looked up to face the disappointment he knew he’d find in Karls’ eyes. “I’m sorry. I cannot be this leader you speak of…” Erik turned his gaze back to the youth in the bed.

Sighing in defeat, Karl quickly turned away from his brother. Until this moment he had never felt disappointed in his older sibling; it was not a feeling he enjoyed. Striding out of the hut he was stopped short by two men, Viggo and Peter.

“He is not coming is he?” Viggo asked.

Karl shifted, uncomfortable discussing his brother with Peter about. “He is…unwell.”

“Unwell! Ha! Bewitched more like!” Peter strode forth, his meaty jowls wobbling as he spat out each word. “It’s that boy. Everything was fine till he arrived! He is a witch I tell you.”

Karl wanted to argue with the man, loathed to admit anything the blob of fat was saying could be true, but he could not. Erik had changed since the last raid…maybe it was the fault of the whore his brother claimed to love.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

…slipped foot…coldness…all was over. Eyes met…both wide in shock at what had happened. Screaming…a body slumped to the ground…blood…

Erik bolted upright as a shout echoed through the cold morning air. Twisting round, he kicked furiously at the bedding wrapped around his legs as he tried to turn over, desperately trying to reach the thrashing youth next to him. Once freed, he grabbed hold of the shaking slave, pulling him tightly into his embrace as he tried to sooth the ill youth. It had been two days since the fever had taken hold; two days of heated skin, shaking limbs and…dreams. Whatever it was that Orlando kept seeing caused him to cry out, the sound tearing through Eriks’ heart with savage brutality. Erik sighed in relief, planting a small kiss on the sweaty brow as the youth calmed once again. Sliding the frail body back onto the cot, Erik carefully manoeuvred himself over the resting form, padding gently over to the small fire. 

Grabbing a sprig of the green plant the healer had supplied, he sat down, legs crossed as he tore the sprig into small pieces, sprinkling the remnants into the water that had been kept boiling continuously for the last few days. 

Erik stared at the water; small bubbles popping along the flat surface. His eyes felt heavy in the smoky hut; lines of tension covering his face as he stirred the liquid aimlessly. He did not like feeling this helpless, but there was nothing that could be done…nothing he could do to make things right. Orlando stirred on the cot behind him before quieting once again.

Karl had yet to return from the hunt, but that was to be expected. Three days after the party had departed heavy mist had covered the valley making visibility low. Erik had no worries for the safety of the hunters, however he feared what would happen should they return empty handed. Staring into the flames he tried to ignore the emotions swelling inside of him…guilt, worry, anger…love. Love. That was what had brought this whole thing about. Love for a mere slip of a boy…a slave. A slave that could cost him everything. Karl had been right. He was risking too much…

“Erik?” The small voice sounded from behind him. Scrambling to his knees Erik launched himself quickly across the floor till he was beside the prone figure on the cot. Tired eyes struggle to focus on him, skin flushed and glistening with sweat in the firelight. Erik grabbed Orlandos’ flailing hand, kissing the slender knuckles in relief.

“You are awake.” Orlando smiled softly at the obvious statement. Hand shaking, Erik gently brushed the sweat slick hair off the youths brow; fingers tracing across the pale skin as they retreated. “Do you remember what happened?”

Orlando closed his eyes, tears seeping from beneath his lashes as he took a shuddered breath. “Yes…”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Damn this mist! The Gods are not in our favour this day my friend." Karl nodded at Viggo’s assessment; a fruitless gesture as he could not actually see the other man. The mist had enveloped them fast, tumbling through the valley like the great waves of the sea. In mere minutes the forest around them had disappeared, only to be replaced by veiled shapes in the white air. 

"Viggo's right. This is pointless. We'll make camp for the night here." Karl ignored the groans and muttered voices swirling about him. 

"We'll have no luck this hunt. Odin has abandoned us-"  
"My wife will not stop if I return empty handed again. Last time she would not quiet for a whole week!"  
"We can do naught, tis Erik that had angered the Gods-" 

Karl stiffened at the last comment, but right now he could not find it in his heart to argue with the man. The hunt had so far been a failure; he was cold, tried and still fairly annoyed at his brother for bringing them to this. For all Karl knew, the Gods were punishing them for Eriks’ ways. Why did he always have to make things so complicated? Karl was fond of his slave, that was true. The boy had spirit and endless energy…but Karl would never say he loved him! That could not be done. That Erik had said that about a lesser slave then Karl’s own even…well that was the problem. The men needed someone strong to believe in…

“Karl! Join us!” The Norseman looked up, slightly disconcerted to notice a rudimentary fire had been built up and lit while he had been locked away in his own mind. The flames of the fire seemed to drive the mist away, allowing the hunters a much needed respite. Karl offered a small grin as he sat down next to Viggo, nodding his head in thanks as a horn of mead was passed his way; the thick drink reviving for both body and the mind. Passing the amber liquid on to the next man, Karl pulled his fur tight about his frame, shivering slightly as he gazed into the lapping flame of the fire.

“I fear this hunt will not be for us my friend.”

Karl glanced at his friend as Viggo spoke, the other mans eyes’ firmly locked on the burning logs.

“You heard the men. They fear the Gods are angered and will not help us. I think they are right.” Viggo turned to face Karl, eyes quickly darting around the temporary camp before leaning in close. “I did not wish to be the one to say this to you my friend, but I am not sure your brother can lead us anymore. I fear he is bewitched. Wait my friend!” 

Viggo grabbed Karls’ arm, pulling him back down as the other Norseman had moved to leave.

“I will not listen to this from you too Viggo.”

“You will listen! It is your responsibility to. Our fortunes have changed my friend, and not for the best. I fear the Gods’ are angered at us and we both know the cause!”

“I do not-”

“You do!” Viggo spat. “You see it as plainly as I do! We were prosperous my friend; our bellies full of fine wine and meat, our beds with youths’ taken from our enemies. The men were happy and the Gods’ appeased…then HE came.”

Karl stared hard at his friend. “He is a child.”

“He is a deceiver! Do not let his backwards ways confuse you. He tells lies and spreads mistrust. Have you been so blind? Do you not see how he has wormed his way into your brothers’ bed and into his mind? How he effects his decisions? Is that not why we have not raided since the demon arrived? Odin is displeased by our leaders idleness!”

“Viggo-”

“Why is our leader not here, providing for his people? Why Karl? You were right. He is unwell, he is bewitched! He will not be well until that THING is gone, its traitorous tongue ripped from his head before it is fed to the dogs!”

Viggo gripped Karls’ arms, willing his friend to listen to his words. He smothered a smile as fiery hazel eyes locked with his own. There was one last thing Viggo knew he needed to say…

“Karl, you have to help him.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was early morning when Karl slipped quietly back into the village. Glancing back he saw Viggo nod at him, before taking his place next to the huts’ entrance. Though there were people around, no one seemed to have marked the arrival of the two hunters. Pushing the hide flap aside Karl stepped into the dark interior of the hut, eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the change in light level. Spotting his quarry Karl silently strode across the room, coming to rest above the sleeping form. The Norseman felt his loins tighten as he gazed down at the comely youth, yet he made no move to sake his lust as he once would have. That was not why he was here.

Unsheathing his sword he placed it on the ground, careful not to make any sounds. Pulling the heavy winter fur over his head he gently placed it over the sleeping body, smiling to himself as the youth snorted in his sleep. 

“I am sorry.” He whispered. 

Karl quickly rose to his feet in one fluid motion, grabbing his sword off the ground before turning and heading out of the hut.

“Thought you wanted a quick rut?” Viggo asked as Karl walked passed him. The Norseman refused to answer, instead heading over to his brothers’ hut. Without breaking his pace Karl pushed his way past the flap and into Eriks’ tent. 

Erik looked up as Karl barged in, eyes automatically taking in his brothers agitated state and the sword grasped so firmly in his hand.

“What-do-you-want-Karl.” Each word was spat out as he continued to thrust his rod into the body beneath him, too close to release to even consider stopping. 

Karl almost groaned as he watched his brother reach his peak, envy flaring momentarily before he remembered what he had come to do.

“I have come to help you brother.” His fingers tightened around the pommel of his sword as Erik leaned forwards, tenderly kissing his ‘slave’ on the lips.

“Help me? Why are you not hunting?” Erik pulled himself out of Orlandos’ spent body, wrapping some material around his waist to form a kilt as he stood to face his brother. “Have you all returned? Has Viggo?” His entire being darkened as he said the last.

“Viggo?” 

“It was Viggo that attacked Orlando.” Karl carefully concealed his reaction as he looked at his brother.

“Did the slave tell you that?” Viggos’ words rang silently in his ears as Erik nodded, He tells lies and spreads mistrust.

“Erik, you are not well. Do you not see you are being used?” Karl stepped closer to his brother. 

“Used?” Erik frowned as he realised where Karls’ gaze lay. “I will not start this again brother.”

Karl smiled sadly at his older brother, “No Erik…it is time to end it.”

Moving quickly Karl sidestepped Eriks’ large form, swinging his sword in a downwards arch towards the figure on the bed. Orlando cried out as the heavy blade narrowly missed his slender form; the deadly swing diverted by Erik ploughing into his brother, knocking them both to the ground. 

“Have you gone mad!” Erik grunted as Karl kicked out catching him in the bare stomach as both men fought for control of the blade.

“I am not the one to have lost his senses brother!” A lucky shot to Eriks’ head gave him pause, allowing Karl to scramble from under his brothers’ grasp. Spinning round his eyes quickly fixed on Orlandos’ cowering form. The boy screamed as Karl once again headed towards him. Launching himself towards the huts’ exit, Orlando ran as fast as his feet would carry him, tears streaming down his face as the cold morning air struck his skin. The air was forced from his slender body as something hit him from behind, forcing him down onto the muddy ground. Sobbing uncontrollably Orlando crawled forwards slowly, unwilling to turn and look at the figure standing over him.

“Karl?!” The voice caught the Norseman unaware, his head automatically turning to meet Berns’ questioning gaze; the brown-haired slave wrapped tightly in Karls’ winter fur. Glancing around he noticed a crowd had drawn in, word of a fight spreading quickly. He was momentarily taken back by the look of glee on Viggos’ face before a heavy hit to the back sent him sprawling onto the muddy ground. He froze as the point of a blade hovered just in front of his face. Erik looked down at him, his expression such a mix of rage and betrayal Karl almost had to look away. 

Erik reached down, grabbing Orlando roughly by the arm and pulling the sobbing boy to his feet. Whispering something into the slaves’ ear seemed to calm him, before the boy slowly stumbled over towards Liv, his muddy form quickly covered by the womans’ cloak.

“Get up.” Karl wasted no time as the blade withdrew, grabbing his own sword and rolling to his feet in one fluid motion.

“So it has come to this?” Erik asked, voice choked from conflicting emotions.

“It has.” 

Erik nodded, eyes glistening as he looked over his brother, both aware that this would be the last time one of them breathed in the crisp morning air.

“You could back down…”

Karl smiled, “You know I cannot.”

Erik knew that. To back down now would be seen as cowardice on Karls’ part, and Erik would be forced to either kill or enslave his own brother or else be seen as weak himself. But wasn’t that what had started the whole thing? Being seen as weak in the eyes of the men? Erik didn’t have time to ponder over the thought as Karl tipped his head in salute. It was time…

The sounds of swords clashing echoed throughout the village as the brothers danced around each other. The brothers’ were evenly matched, as well they knew. Karl easily avoided a swing that would likely have cut any other man in two, Eriks’ blade skimming safely passed his side. Karl felt his arm jar as his sword struck against the other Norsemans’ both pushing against each other to try and gain an advantage.

A slipped foot was all it took, one missed step on the muddy ground and all was over. Eriks’ eyes met Karls’, both wide in shock at what had happened. They staggered away from each other, one from exhaustion, the other staring in shock at the blade embedded in his chest. A pained cry ripped through the air as a body slumped to the ground, blood seeping quickly across the trampled snow. A scream echoed around the village as a young slave boy ran forwards, dropping to his knees by his masters’ side. The brown haired youth grabbed fistfuls of his masters’ tunic, sobbing as he laid his head against the still chest.

It was done.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> In my head Bern was Hugh Dancy :)


End file.
